alteodosio

[alteodosio]

alexandra’s new literary career

-Wait, you got published?

-You have to get under the jaw bone and go in this way, right like this.

-We need a better knife.

-Yeah, got published, yes sir.

-Congrats.

-I guess.

-Oh look at you, all humble.

-Just straight through right there, gotta go straight through the bone in one motion, watch.

-Christ, these gloves suck. What did you do different?

-This is how I’ve always done it, Fuzzy taught me way back.

-The publishing I mean. What did you do different?

-You really want to know?

-I really want to know.

-I changed the last two letters of my name from -er to -ra and put a squiggly line over one of the vowels in my last name.

-Oh good lord.

-It wasn’t even a real grammatical symbol, in any language. Looked kind of like a meal worm, like when they curl up before they die, but with antlers.

-Don’t you have to meet with anyone or anything? Or talk to anyone?

-My experiences with the patriarchy have left me reclusive and suspicious of the literary industry, Chris.

-Well fuck me.

-Watch watch watch right there—make sure that gets in the drain, don’t drop that.

-You’re doing the legs this time.

[alteodosio]

mitch

Befriend your suffering.

My new therapist said this in our last meeting, and I fell in love with the phrase even before the words finished leaving her mouth. I’ve been so focused on ending my suffering, killing it, stamping it out like that colony of leaf bugs under my porch, that I never stopped to consider that maybe there was another approach. It’s like if I said Whatever you do, don’t think about diving into a swimming pool full of wasps! I bet you would think about exactly that.

It wasn’t until I got home and put some beans on the stove that I realized I’ve never been good at making friends, even when they’re live people standing in front of me offering me a fig or something. And now I was trying to make friends with someone who was me. Or wasn’t me. Or something. I forget which. All I know is that I spent the next two weeks trying to befriend my suffering with exactly zero befriended people in my resumé.

Soon my suffering started to feel like an employer who was politely refusing me for lack of experience. I’d feed Bernadette and sit down to watch the evening news, and I’d look around my empty apartment and realize Bernadette was the only one I had shared any real insights with in the past seven years, and I’d feel the old familiar tug on my heart. Then the bad thoughts would come as usual, but in these new bizarre corporate-sounding sentences. “We appreciate your interest, but we currently have no available suffering for you to befriend at this time.” Or I’d wake up in the middle of the night, soaked through with sweat, and all I could think was “Thank you for your interest. However, all suffering has currently been filled.”

Even my own suffering wouldn’t employ me, never mind befriend me.

I was preparing for cricket practice one morning when I noticed Bernadette sniffing the air and looking alert in a way that usually means Hi ho, human! Here I am being a cat, but I have noticed something you may not be privy to! Thus, I questioned her and she ran upstairs, so I followed, and then she darted into the guest room.

And there he was: combat boots, camo pants, a Bert and Ernie “Math is Fun!” t-shirt that stopped just above his belly button, his hairy gut hanging out over his belt. Bald, unshaven. Deep red lipstick, mostly on his lips. Probably late 40’s. I knew it in a split second with that inexplicable certainty that hits you in dreams.

My suffering.

My heart glowed. He said his name was Mitch.

[alteodosio]

connections

Wasps, sewn into the flesh. A white spotted fawn, confused by the falling of apples in the late orange sun. Inserted under the vein, tied off and torn out. Waterfalls of light, all that cool beauty under a waxing moon, into the swimming hole below in a summer midnight. The warm, smiling weight of a newborn’s face in the palm of your hand. A cat yawn. Buried up to the neck, hungry crabs forced downslope with fire. A severed finger lodged in the windpipe, rings were the culprit. The way eyes never age. A fierce thunderstorm late in the day and the crisp, uncharged air bent in the late summer light afterward. The moment of recognition that swims in the half moon of light on an iris. Dry heaves of scathing disbelief. Weightless, shapeless ecstasy glowing from the heart. Joy. Indignation. The decadence of self deprecation. Faith in the mutually epiphanic. Wasps and subject alive and well. Pride made cool again by children. The clarity of cold water on the face, a ringing in the ears and the usual old dull hum, all at once. Wings sewn into the body and feet bound, for fun. A three-digit tip for a beer, on a hunch, that saves a life. An army of tiny molting crabs in the blood.

[alteodosio]

three people, grieving

-Are you going out after this? Do you know where they’re going?

-I think that diner over on Winard. They haven’t formally invited me but I think it’s the type of thing where everyone is invited.

-Have you ever listened to the end of that song?

-I don’t know what I’m going to say to Catherine if I sit near her, though. I’m really bad at this stuff.

-Everyone is. I know I certainly am. Just sit there and don’t say anything. People just like being near each other.

-Have you heard the end of that song?

-I don’t know. Yes, OK?

-But are we talking the album version or the radio version? Because those fuckers in the booths get pretty trigger happy with the end of songs. I mean like have you really listened all the way to the end, uninterrupted?

-I thought Carmine said some really nice things. I didn’t know he could speak in front of a crowd like that.

-I know. That was really deep. A lot of priests really dislike that, but I’m glad they were cool with it.

-But Jesus, did you see the look on Clyde’s face during the recessional?

-Oh my god. I almost lost it.

-I’m not talking about the little dittiddee-dada thing. Even when the video was getting regular airtime they would leave that in.

-I just feel bad for Kathy. And Whiskers—who’s going to take her? I doubt Angie is going to be up for it this time.

-I’m talking about after that, she starts doing these crazy operatic vocal leaps that are downright haunting.

-I hate that cat. If anyone could love that thing, it was her.

-All I’m saying is that ‘Where Have All the Cowboys Gone’ is the ‘Layla’ of the 90’s female rock crowd. The best part of the song always gets cut off on the radio, and then you hear it and it changes your whole understanding of the song.

-Jesus, man, we’re at a fucking funeral.

[alteodosio]

On Normalcy: Mr. Nelson’s Last Appearance at 316 West Oak Lane

I have a house. It has a yard. I take care of my yard. For example, I ride my Toro 5100 ride-on mower with the blade engaged every Sunday at 2:00pm. I make sure to wear what my wife calls my “around the house” clothes. They are clothes that are either old or have fallen into disrepair. My work clothes are much different. Some examples of my work clothes include: the button down shirt with the tiny blue squares, the button down shirt with the tiny green squares, the collared short-sleeve shirt with tiny navy blue squares. Sometimes on Fridays my work has dress down day, so I wear my crazy Hawaiian shirt, which sends the following message: Hey, I am a Hip Guy. Some examples of my work pants include: The khaki-colored khakis, the navy blue khakis, the grey khakis, the black khakis. My vehicle is a dependable SUV with a lot of leg room and multiple cup holders. This Saturday I am looking forward to the barbecue that will commence on my property. I have prepared for this event. My preparations include: buying extra meat, buying soda, buying plastic forks and knives. I am excited for this event because it has given me many things to say when I’m standing in a room with my wife and there is nothing to say. For example, I will say something like, “Well, you always say you want a man who cooks, so I will be a man who cooks on this Saturday coming up.” Frequently this elicits a weird smile that isn’t really a smile. Sometimes I like to come home from work and drink a beer on my couch and not be bothered by my wife. In my head, I will say, “Oh, women.” Occasionally I long for another male with whom to lament my situation. This makes me think: In some ways, I will miss Bill Nelson. But then I simply continue watching the sports contest until I fall asleep. In the morning, I generally like to drink a lot of coffee before leaving the house. I find this makes me more alert at my job. I like being alert at my job. My job is: Assistant Consolidation Executive Oversight Group Managing Leader Director. It is a good job. But hey: You know what they say. It’s called work for a reason! I like to say this to friends when we are hanging out because it is a truth and sends the following message: I would like to terminate the conversation about work. I am debating whether or not I should extract the apron I received as a gift four years ago for the barbecue this weekend. It is an American flag apron with the following text emblazoned on the front: Kiss the Crook. I think this apron is funny for the following reason: It is a play on the popular slogan “Kiss the cook,” but amended for the effect of comedy. In this case, the simple addition of an R changes the meaning from “one who prepares food” to “someone who has engaged in illegal behavior.” For the barbecue on Saturday, I have decided that Buddy, my golden retriever, will spend the day at the dog boarding facility, which is usually only used when we go on vacation to places like Florida or the Cape, but since he has been digging around the yard quite a bit lately, I am taking him to the dog boarding facility so he doesn’t disturb any of the guests (for he has been known to create some very large holes in the lawn, and it would be unfortunate were he to find one of the fingers during the event) or eat any of the food, since he is getting quite large in his stomach area, most likely because we frequently give him table scraps when he sits and begs, even though we decided when we got him as a puppy that no table scraps would be given to him. Some examples of my pajamas include: The full-body navy blue pajamas, the full-body light green pajamas. In general, I like to make jokes that I am only a competent cook when I am grilling; otherwise, it is my wife’s domain. Some more examples of my favorite jokes include: the joke about how I am excited to golf in the near future even though I am not a good golfer, the joke about the amount of money that I will spend on my children’s college education, the joke about my gradually increasing weight. Sometimes when my wife and I are in the same room, I like to ask if everything is OK so I can be excused for any type of emotional aloofness. For example, sometimes she will say that she has had a hard day and I will make my sad face and then retreat to the couch. Later on I will say, “Is everything OK?” Sometimes she will sigh or not answer, but this way she knows I am thinking about her, even though my mind is on something else. Some examples of things my mind may be on instead of the possibility of my wife’s bad day include: the upcoming barbecue, the button-down shirt with the tiny blue squares, how to season the meat on Saturday. In general, rarely do these events offer too little meat to guests, even though the planner of the event will frequently worry about the amount of meat available. Yet I remain unconcerned.

[alteodosio]

#27: this little bugger

HEATHER: Sidney?

SIDNEY: Wait, Heather?

HEATHER: Oh my god! I haven’t seen you in forever!

SIDNEY: Hold on, let me park.

HEATHER: Oh my god.

SIDNEY: Yeah, I know, it’s been a while, right?

HEATHER: Jeez. How are you?

SIDNEY: I’m good, I’m good. I’m actually a tea waitress now.

HEATHER: Get out!

SIDNEY: Really. It’s so great. I love it so much. It might not be permanent, you know, but it’s certainly better than that little office they had me in.

HEATHER: I bet.

SIDNEY: I can’t believe I stayed there for so long. I mean, I was upset when they let me go, but it so turned out for the best. Anyway how are you? Are you still at Aerodyne?

HEATHER: Yeah, it’s OK. You know.

SIDNEY: Are the same people still there?

HEATHER: Yeah. Yeah. You know how it is there. I mean it’s a good job, and it’s stable and all, but you know how it is. I mean, their new thing now is they want us to copy Rachel Briggs on every inter-office CCR, which I don’t even know if that’s like, ethical, because she kind of splits her duties between HR and her normal role ever since Sue left.

SIDNEY: Oh, yeah. That’s weird.

HEATHER: So she basically sees everything you send to comp systems, so it’s kind of like submitting a resume any time you have to send a CCR. I know they’re using it to decide who stays and who goes, I mean it’s just. It’s just bullshit, is what it is.

SIDNEY: Oh, right, yeah, I hear that. So how’s everything going with -

HEATHER: And now they want me to come in before 7:15 every morning so I can finish all the consolidation graphs before noon, because for whatever reason they have to get them out by one o’clock now, which I don’t understand. So I have to drop this little bugger off…put that down…because I said so…we will when we get home…sorry. I have to drop this little bugger off at day care by 6:30 so I can get there by 7 and have time to park because you know how that lot is, I mean it’s just a nightmare even on a good day. Oh god, I’m sorry! Have you had enough of me yet? HAHA!

SIDNEY: Heather, this is my husband Norman. Norman, this is Sidney. We used to work together.

NORMAN: Hey, nice to meet you.

HEATHER: Great to meet you. Sorry I’m ranting on over here! You’re probably like, who’s this woman!

NORMAN: No, no, not at all. It’s great to run into you, I’ve heard so much about —

HEATHER: So, yeah, I mean, the lot is just horrendous. Especially if it’s raining out, which, like, look where we live, so basically it’s always raining in the morning. Peter Ulrich tried to get them to count parking lot time as work hours a few months ago, and they basically laughed him out of the office. And so I don’t know if you’ve noticed this indent here on my bumper —

SIDNEY: Oh, god.

NORMAN: Oh, man, what a bummer.

HEATHER: Yup. That’s from earlier today. I was just so stressed about getting in on time, so it was bad enough as it was, and then this one over here…we’re going to go soon, honey…when we get home, you can, I promise…this one over here had a tantrum. He’s been acting up quite a bit lately. Basically the deal was he could have half of a strawberry cream Pop Tart if he agreed to get all of his books ready the night before, which is basically just a backpack because he’s in kindergarten, haha, but when it came time to leave for the day he decided he had to have his yellow T-rex with him, but it wasn’t packed yet so he took all the stuff out of his backpack to put it in just the right spot, and when I told him he could just put it wherever he totally lost it.

SIDNEY: Oh, man, bummer. Hey, have you tried that new place over by the —

HEATHER: And so he screamed the entire way to day care, like at the top of his lungs, just screamed his head off the entire way. He got to that point that’s like beyond tantrum and is just pure mania. Oh, jeez. I mean it was just awful. So I dropped him off at daycare finally, and he’s still freaking out like nuts, so here are all these moms just glaring at me with their perfect little kids, and I know they all think I’m a terrible mother, but screw them. I don’t care what they think of me. I mean I really don’t. So I was running late because of the T-rex incident, so when I got to the parking lot, I had to find a different spot than I usually take, so I had to back in, which I don’t have the best track record with, and I backed straight into a telephone pole, and yeah. So that’s where that’s from.

NORMAN: Oh, wow, damn. That really sucks. I’m sure you can get it fixed.

HEATHER: Oh, you’re probably so sick of hearing me go on! I just met you and listen to me rant. What do you do, Nile?

NORMAN: Oh, it’s no worries, really. I’m actually a videographer for this company that I started not too long ago, and —

HEATHER: Oh! And that’s the other thing! They made everyone in client mediation sign non-compete forms, which is total bullshit because a lot of those people have their own businesses on the side. I mean it wouldn’t be an issue if they were full-time employees, but they’re not, they’re technically all contractors, so now they can’t even make a few bucks on the side because of these non-competes. I think Jerry even got a pretty stern slap on the wrist because of it. And my husband found out and I think he was trying to just stand up for me, I mean I know he was, but basically he wound up calling them and got into this big tiff, so if I seem a little hot it’s because I’m still fuming from the argument we just had. Oh, god, listen to me talk! What do you do, Nick?

NORMAN: No, it’s fine, really. I mean it’s just part of the deal, right? Nobody’s life is perfect. Like, I’ve been having these weird apocalyptic dreams lately, and they’re just —

HEATHER: Oh man, dreams! I wonder what it’s like to actually get some sleep! Just last week I was —

NORMAN: And they’re just fucking so vivid and real and intense. Which is fine, you know, I’m used to that sort of thing, for better or worse. But they’re not even dreams at this point, they’re basically full length feature films that just run in my head the second I fall asleep. Last night it started out on a bridge. It was night, and we were all being rounded up by some type of futuristic Gestapo-type figures, and we were being drug tested for some forbidden substance. Anyone who had it in their system was shot on the edge of the bridge we were on, and they would fall over the side. You know how sometimes in dreams things are muted and there’s kind of a weird fog around everything? Well, there was none of that. I could hear and feel the sharp, concussive crack of each gunshot like I was at a firing range.

HEATHER: Wow. That’s certainly, um —

NORMAN: And so in the next scene, which by the weird dream-logic was totally unconnected and yet simultaneously the obvious next chapter, I was holding a World War I-era semi-automatic rifle and shooting at these people who I can only assume were part of the evil drug-testing Gestapo-esque figures. Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever had any dreams that involve guns, but more often than not for me, any guns in dreams don’t work, or they shoot fragments of lamp shades or something, and they don’t really fire so much as they kind of melt apart in your hand. Which has all the obvious Freudian implications of being male and sexual anxiety and all that. Well. This rifle I was holding worked perfectly well, and the sensory information from the whole experience of firing the gun was so real. Like I could feel the kickback on my shoulder, and the crack would start out as a pop and echo off into the distance as a kind of like thin sounding thunder, and I could see the muzzle flash perfectly and the little shell pop out, and then the smoke. And the Gestapo evil dudes or whoever would get hit by a bullet and get torn to shreds, like I could see the entry point in high-def and watch them crumble to the ground, all in vivid color and basically surround sound.

HEATHER: Hey, so it was great running into you and meeting you, but I have to get this little bugger off to—

NORMAN: So the next scene, which was kind of like daily life in this post-apocalyptic world, was me fishing for this bass with a line I found in some bushes. And I was holding the hook right in front of its face, but it wouldn’t take it, but then I dragged my hook through some radioactive muck in the water and the fish took it immediately, and I dragged it out and I was all triumphant because I caught this fish to eat, but then I considered that it’s probably loaded with cesium or some type of radioactive fallout, and I just stood there glaring at it, considering how if I didn’t eat it, I basically just added even more unnecessary suffering to this already destroyed world. And then in the last scene, we had found an old abandoned deli that we were hiding out in, and I ran into this girl who was upset because she hadn’t used a real bathroom in months, and I was like, hey, there’s a bathroom in there, and she leaned into me, right in next to my ear and said, ‘Mother wants you home before yesterday.’

HEATHER: So great meeting you. Really. OK. Alright.

SIDNEY: Let’s meet up sometime and do dinner or something.

HEATHER: We should. We should. OK. Bye bye! Wave goodbye, Henry!

[alteodosio]

#26: i can’t go for that

“What kind of fly are you using?”

“Just a nymph.”

“Try a bugger.”

“Not gonna work.”

“Try a bugger.”

“Fine.”

“That’s what I mean though - even the very worst music of all still offers something kind of profound.”

“If this is another one of your ploys to get me to into Coltrane or whatever, it’s not going to -

“We won’t go there, but take like some cheesy ass song that you just loathe. It comes on at the gym or in the supermarket or wherever and every time it comes on you feel your blood pressure go up. It’s one of those songs that makes you lose faith in American pop music by the second chorus, and you just can’t imagine why anyone in their right mind would subject other humans to the sounds you’re hearing, let alone spend time and money producing or recording it or, God forbid, actually making it.”

“Since when do you go to the gym?”

“Since I’ve had to blow off steam from seeing how terrible of a fisherman you are.”

“Oh, that’s interesting, because I actually talked to a few rainbow trout earlier who may have disagreed.”

“But so you have this song in your mind, right? Let’s call it The Worst Song of All Time. There are several. Now imagine you’re at a wedding for someone you don’t know, and you don’t know anyone there, and you have to be the DD that night. And the food comes out, and it’s not really that good, and there are lots of dumb wedding traditions happening in the worst way, and you're just sitting there with your lady. And then people start dancing, and you cringe from the bottom of your soul -

“Whoa - was that a hit?”

“Just a rock.”

“Damn.”

“But people are dancing, and imagine it’s like, a bunch of tipsy 50-somethings dancing in the whitest possible way you can imagine. And now the song comes on, the one that’s The Worst Song of All Time. And this just about does it - you feel like you’re going to puke, and you’re starting to question the very foundation of your identity - and it’s this song that makes your lady stand up and start pulling you over to dance, and you think you might be able to snake out of it, but then other people see her trying to get you to dance and join in on the trying, and all of the attention of the night soon gets turned on you and the fact that you must dance to this song that makes you want to want to vomit -

“Oh! Check that out! Look, right there - that’s a brown.”

“Where?”

“Right next to that rock.”

“I don’t see it.”

“I think he saw you and peaced.”

“But the whole entire wedding is now jumping and dancing around you, and that thing in your stomach is just going nuts, like it’s worse than a shitty job interview. Now you have two options - stand up and dance, or sit there until they lose interest in you, and trust me those fuckers are persistent. You pick the first option. Right there - what does it mean if you dance like there’s no one there, and you just let loose and move your body whichever the hell way it wants? I mean, even if the thought has to be like, I’m punishing you all for making me dance by not restricting my horrible dancing - whatever way you have to think about it, there’s a little opportunity to let go in this very profound way. And if you even stick your toe in the water of this, it gets you drunk. You just want more and more. And then there you are, sober as a judge in the middle of this awful wedding with people you don’t know or particularly like, dancing your heart out to this godawful song that you thought you hated, and in fact still do, but now you kind of love it because you hate it. Which is what I mean. The very worst music in the world, the absolute worst that music is capable of, still offers this weird profound gift that has something to do with letting go of your ego and not caring about the way other people perceive you.”

“But wait, what if it’s like, Hall and Oates or something?”

“Alright, I’m gonna pretend I didn’t just hear that.”

“It works with any music…except Hall and Oates.”

“I hope you never catch another fish.”

“If you don’t shut up I won’t.”

[alteodosio]

#25: clarence gets his wings

“Look, if I could change anything at all about you, like if an angel showed up like in “It’s a Wonderful Life” but gave me the power to alter anything about you, I wouldn’t change any of these things you’re so worried about.”

“Don’t tell me you’d set the fucker free like in an Aladdin type scenario.”

“I wouldn’t, I mean, so long as he didn’t offer me, like, a deal on the side or something.”

“You’re a dick.”

“But the one thing I would change is your ability to see it, to see what’s so obvious to other people.”

“What?”

[alteodosio]

#23: intro #1

It was so cute. I mean now it’s dead, but it really was cute.

Oswald was queasy. There was the time he ate Auntie Bean’s chicken without knowing it, and the time his brother Paul convinced him that he killed Bug, the family hound, with his mind. Then there was the time he blew up that frog in the microwave.

But this. Now this. A real live dead rabbit, at his feet. Oh boy.

The frog incident would’ve been fine if his brother Paul hadn’t screwed up the de-thawing process. Oswald had stored it in the freezer a few days earlier to preserve it until medical supplies could be airlifted in. But then the air support had to be called off due to heavy artillery fire and lightning. Also mom. Paul insisted they de-thaw and operate now, while there was still time. There was a setting on the microwave for this type of thing - half power with sensor cook. Oswald had seen it in action. It always worked. He’d seen it work like a thousand times. There was a method to this kind of thing, which idiot brother Paul obviously didn’t get. A process that required patience, brainpower, stealthiness. Basically all the skills Paul lacked. And Paul just goes and puts the thing in there like it’s a Hot Pocket.

Compared to this, the microwave thing was zilch. Nothing. A speck. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t freeze it. Anyway, it was too big to freeze. He could consult Maribel, the new, very not dead cat, who would sometimes offer advice on girls and how to play the accordion. She would know exactly what to do.

“Maribel!”

Rustle of leaves. Bird noises.

On second thought, she kills quite a bit. Better not to take advice from her anyway, the little death witch.

The chicken thing wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t decided a few days before that the chicken in question moved kind of like Uncle Sal when he grills. Jabbing its head back and forth and its little strut – it was a spitting image of Sal opening and closing the grill, reaching for his sambuca, putzing around like he was trying to move and stay put at the same time. It was Paul who blurted it out at dinner just after they all finished eating. You just ate Quincy! HAHA! At least he got a slap on the arm for that. It tasted so good, which made it worse. Not that he really liked Uncle Sal all that much.

One thing was certain: It was totally, totally fine. If he was going to figure this out, he’d need a clear mind. The mind of a Jedi! He had this kind of thing in huge supply, probably because Paul lacked any of it. He had gotten all the Jedi powers. Paul had gotten all the dumbness. Just the way it goes, not his fault. He would devise a plan, and he’d carry out the plan, and then he’d go inside for dinner, just like that. Blammo. Done. What was he so worked up about, anyhow? This kind of thing happens all the time. Just a part of life. Oh man, thank god! It’s fine! Totally fine! And to think, he had almost cried! Ha!

He started sobbing.

It was all so sudden. The poor thing. It probably had kids. Hundreds of kids, waiting at home in the den, thankful and grateful for the ready supply of food that comes on a regular basis via the very alive and healthy parent. Guess they’d all up and die, just like that. Just like the dog he definitely didn’t kill with his mind.

It was a mistake. A miscalculation. He was trying to hit the rock up ahead, the one with the chip in it. He probably missed because Paul had refused to record him practicing so he could study the tapes later. It’s all about vector angles. Any idiot knows that, but obviously Paul didn’t. Figures. So basically it was really more Paul’s mistake. That made him feel better. Kind of. Not really. But it had definitely been a mistake, there was no doubt about that. Almost practically none.  

He puked.

Darn it.

Time to get Paul.

[alteodosio]

#22: another strikeout

“It supports cancer research, actually. There’s a grant that we got a few months back for this whole project. It’s through the oncology department at MGH, in collaboration with this person who’s apparently a big name in the field, this Dr. Wellington Hadsbrow I think. Anyway, long story short, the data I collect is really important to the project because it gives us insight into the breathing patterns of people with this rare cancer-resistant genome subtype. I have all my own equipment, obviously, and I keep my household footprint to a minimum. I bring quiet snacks like yogurt and creamed spinach, I don’t mind animals and I won’t enter any rooms without your permission. The agency down here has given me these great low-light goggles, they’re not exactly night vision goggles, I mean we barely have funding for toilet paper, you know what I mean, but they are kind of cool and they actually work pretty well. The mic we use is a middle-of-the-road condenser mic and I run a really simple ProTools station a few feet from the subject. We actually get training on navigating the field in low noise scenarios, so I’m used to this kind of thing, and I’ve done a bunch of -

“I don’t, um - ��

“I’m used to this kind of thing, and thus far I’ve had only one subject wake up. The target group that we’re going for is -

“I, I - I’m not sure that I totally understand -

“Is kids between the ages of six and eight, mostly, the second biggest demographic that will benefit from the data we collect being orphaned adolescents from sub-saharan African.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m not sure I’m following -

“That’s ok. People have a lot of questions about this kind of thing. I can send you a brochure if you’d like. In the meantime maybe I can schedule a date while we’re both looking at a calendar?”

“OK, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to explain this to me one more time.”

“OK. You remember that we knew in each other in college right?”

“Well, yeah, I think so. I mean I’m pretty sure you lived next to me. But it was seventeen years ago, and it’s just -

“Orphaned kids between the ages of four and five being the third largest demographic that will benefit from the data we collect. It’s a landmark study spearheaded by the oncology department at MGH, and it’s really groundbreaking stuff that we’re digging into. Look, Todd, this is a chance to be a part of something really great, and -

“It’s -

“who have been identified to have this specific rare genome subtype -

“It’s Stan, actually -

“that affects their breathing patterns, and if we can study those patterns, there’s a chance we can gain some really valuable insights into the nature of the disease.”

“Wait - how do you know I even have this rare gene thing?”

“Look, Steve, there are lists, OK? This is really important research that’s happening and I need to find volunteers I can trust. Are you looking at a calendar?”

“But how does this tie into you recording me sleep?”

“There is a specific rare genome subty -

“Look man, I get the subtype thing, but I’m not letting you come into my house and make a recording of me sleeping for eight hours, alright? Sorry man. I really hope you can figure something out, OK? And I’m sure it’s good research but I don’t even -

“Children between the ages of four months and sixteen months being the fourth largest demographic that will benefit from -

“I really have to -

“I bring only quiet snacks like yogurt and creamed spinach so there’s a very low chance that any chewing sounds would wake -

“Ok. Goodbye. I’m hanging up now. Bye.”

“Shit.”

[alteodosio]

#21: on the trust of the Yetsu

-Henry! Thank you for coming!

-Thanks for inviting me.

-Did you get here OK?

-You know something. I took 82 instead of going down route 14 there, and I-

-Wait. You got on 14 by Clyde’s Place?

-Got on 14 by Clyde’s Place, yup, and then just shot down onto 22.

-Now wait. 22. Is that by the Citgo there?

-It’s a Mobil I think. Shot down onto 22 and just popped out right on Honeydew Lane.

-I’ll have to try that sometime. I always take 14.

-Well my wife thinks that way is faster.

-Hahahahahaha. Haha. Haha.

-Ahahahahahaa.

-Henry, have you met Leroy? He works with Stan. I have to go chop some lamb shanks - I’m sure you two can find something to chat about!

-Nice to meet you. How about this rain, huh? I tell you something, I’m ready for spring. Oh look at this. They even have the appetizers being passed around on these fancy trays. I didn’t know it was going to be so fancy! I should have worn that tie my wife wanted me to wear. Ahahahahaha. Hahaha. Haha. Ha.

-You know one thing these little platters always make me think about is the dynamic of the trust factor that must exist in cannibalistic cultures, because there’s either this incredibly strong bond the members have with each other, or there’s a kind of faithful abandon in their communal anti-trust, like anyone might go at any minute, but it’s for the good of the tribe so they take refuge in that. And there’s got to be this other, more day to day dynamic of like one minute you could be at my house eating dinner and then it’s like, sorry man, we’re actually going to eat you now, but thanks for coming over and I really hope you taste good with whatever we’re having later. And then it gets really interesting when you consider these certain cultures that are still around that live cannibalistically but also still have a strong culture of ingesting sacred psychoactive compounds, like take the Yetsu in the northern Andes, for instance. If a warring tribe attacks them while one of the Yetsu’s women is pregnant, and it’s during their harvesting season but they haven’t yet started to trim the leaves off of their sacred toon-toon yams, they hold this feasting ritual where every member of the tribe has to sit in front of a fire and drink the boiled juice of the thanvi root, which I hear makes LSD look like weak coffee, and they chant and dance and march around until the eldest member of the tribe - I think their term for it is Yetsan - selects one of the middle aged men who’s just passed the prime part of his warrior capabilities and brings him to the center of this huge circle of dancing and hallucinating villagers who then chant the sacred name of the Yetsu god in unison until one of the younger females of the clan, I think it has to be one who would have been trimming the leaves of the toon-toon yams had it been a little later in the year, has to stab the selected ex-warrior through the throat with the sharpened fibula of a red-backed hogdog, which is like this little coyote or dingo looking thing with long hair and these weird blue eyes. So she stabs him through the throat and then they roast him right there on the spot over this fire that’s built with tree bark and toad fangs, and they have to consume every bit of his flesh, organs and even bones before the sun rises the next day, otherwise they have to repeat the entire ceremony again for fear that Yetsiung the vengeful toon-toon god will get angry and destroy their entire village with a flood of bat’s blood or something, which is obviously problematic because these psychoactive compounds really take their toll on the CNS after three or four ingestions, and word is the group has really had some close calls in terms of nearly eating their entire population. But the dynamic of trust there the day after - man, that’s what gets me. Like when the toad fang and tree bark fire is still smoldering there in front of them, and they’re all coming down off the thanvi, and they just ate Rob or whatever and they’re milling around and heading back to their huts, and one of them is like ‘Hey, let’s do brunch at my place,’ and then there’s this moment there before the other dude decides if he’s going to go, and he’s just standing there blinking in the sun. That moment, man. I’d love to be a fly on the wall.

-Kevin, there you are.  

-Who wants lamb shanks?

[alteodosio]

#20: on paranoia

“…and then get this, so his next move is he goes ‘Don’t worry man, I’m not a chess player like that.’”

“…oh.”

[alteodosio]

#19: the health section

Thinking about running into a wall may result in having thought about the possibility of running into a wall, according to a new study.

The study, which was led by Dr. Roland Bardwell of Penn State, sought to answer the question of whether or not thinking about running into a wall will result in having thought about running into a wall. “There has been a lot of speculation lately about this sort of thing,” Bardwell says, “and we wanted to put it to the test because there are a lot of people out there assuming that thinking about running into a wall will result in having thought about running into a wall, and then there are a lot of folks as well going around thinking that thinking about running into a wall will not result in having thought about running into a wall.”

For the study, Dr. Bardwell and his team compiled 72 volunteers aged 18-75. Bardwell and his team ensured that every demographic was well represented. The subjects were asked to sit in a white room undisturbed for ten minutes. Then, at the sound of a bell, they were instructed to think about running into the northern wall of the room.

“The wall we used wasn’t exactly white - it was one of those egg-shell off whites. We wanted to keep everything as neutral as possible. The last thing you want is to finish a study and then realize that the wall you were using was too white.”

After the bell sounded, the team waited five minutes before entering the room. Upon entry, they asked the subject whether or not they had thought about running into a wall after they were instructed to think about running into a wall.

“We were shocked to find that for most of the volunteers in the study, thinking about running into a wall did in fact result in having thought about running into a wall.” Roughly 51% of the volunteers reported that they thought about running into a wall after they were instructed to think about running into a wall, whereas about 49% of the volunteers said that they hadn’t thought about running into a wall after the idea of running into a wall was put into their mind.

The 48.4 million dollar study was published last week in The Journal of Science, raising some eyebrows in the medical community. Dr. Linda McResto, a professor at the University of Oregon, was quick to point out that the study “…failed to account for the possibility that the subjects could have been thinking about running into a wall before even hearing of the study.” In McResto’s view, “We have no proof that these people weren’t thinking about running into a wall earlier in the day, and then continued to do so throughout the entire day of the study.”

But Dr. Bardwell and his team acknowledge that this is only the first step in a very long journey of understanding the phenomenology of thinking about running into a wall. “This study is in no way conclusive at all,” he said. “Look, the last thing we want is people going around thinking that thinking about running into a wall will result in having thought about running into a wall. This is the first of many studies that need to happen, and hopefully sometime in the future, with the right people and the right amount of time, we might move a little closer to understanding this subject.”

As for Dr. Bardwell himself, he’s not sure if thinking about running into a wall will result in having thought about running into a wall. “I’m no expert,” he says with a laugh, “But maybe you can ask the guy who installed my drywall last week. Maybe he knows.”

[alteodosio]

#18: Henry Tootiddle and the Numbers

The band we were going to see wore full body ski suit things from the 80’s or whenever so as to convey not taking themselves too seriously (get it?), as well as these big goggle-like things strapped above their heads (get it?). In between parts of songs, the singer, who had an afro comb in his large unkempt beard (get it?) would turn to the guitarist and say “Hello Jim!” in a big loud overly enthusiastic voice (get it?) that was meant to convey non-seriousness. The drummer was wearing a superman shirt (get it?) and one white glove (get it?) and would frequently over exaggerate all of his movements (get it?) much in the style of an 80’s metal band with the flailing elbows and all (get it?) and would leave his mouth open and kind of nod aggressively while doing so (get it?). Also there was the thing in between songs where they would thank everyone for coming instead of watching 60 Minutes (get it?) even though there was a special on (get it?) about Walter Cronkite (get it?). The band was so not serious about themselves or what they were doing that at one point the singer directed a question to a particular audience member about whether or not that audience member had a copy of the set list available (get it?) because he couldn’t remember what song was next (get it?). The instrument held by the lead singer was a Mexican-made Squire Stratocaster that had the word “blue” painted in red on the body (get it?). The lyrics of the second song of the set were something about watching a bluejay drink coffee and not caring about something and the general spontaneity of day to day life, particularly in a large urban environment containing several attractive members of the same and opposite sex. Around the fourth song an inflatable George Bush Sr. was produced from somewhere behind back stage (get it?) and batted around by the band (get it?) in between the verses, which this time were about not working in a coffee chop (get it?) but instead working in a coffee roasting plant (get it?). Also there were the glasses. The glasses on the lead singer were cheap, gas station-quality plastic sunglasses (get it?) that didn’t match the rest of his 80’s-style full body ski suit (get it?). On the face of the keyboard player there sat large, circular spectacles of the sort that were popular in the mid 90’s (get it?) but had since gone out of style (get it?). Before the end of the first set the singer told the audience that they were going to practice super hard before the second set (get it?) so as to make sure everyone got their money’s worth (get it?). After they left the stage for intermission there came playing from the house speakers the Looney Tunes theme (get it?) followed by The Odd Couple Music (get it?) followed by a broadcast of Newt Gingrich (get it?). The lead singer returned to the stage twenty minutes later, thanked everyone for not leaving (get it?) and sang a reggae-inspired rendition of “Take My Breath Away” (get it?) while accompanied by nothing other than tenor ukulele and accordion (get it?). After that, he told the audience it was his favorite song (get it?), and the rest of the band came back and they played another one of their own songs, which again favored the 1-6-2-5-1 chord progression, this time in the key of A, and boasted lyrics about being in some type of poignant moment of non-poignancy (get it?). Audience members drank beer and some smoked joints and other just sat and watched while American flag confetti (get it?) rained down on stage around the third song. Towards the end of the second set it became clear that the band was going to end soon because of the address the lead singer made to the audience, which included references to the fact that this day was his most favorite day of all time (get it?), or at least since he was a child and had discovered Mountain Dew (get it?). The general overheard consensus on the way to the parking lot after the show was that the show had been so good (get it?).

[alteodosio]

#17: phil

      Though he himself was statistically insignificant, the irrelevance of this fact was quite important. Dire, even.

He realized this while hanging out with Teresa a while ago and had since spent many long Sunday afternoons lamenting it, until eventually he came to embrace it. He tested the waters in an interview a few months back, trying to impress the HR woman with just how vital it really was, the inconsequence of his periphery. They said they’d call.

Eventually, his embrace swelled into an intoxicating pride. But he was healthy (in the mental sense) so he kept an eye on his judgement of others. Checking out at the grocery store, or waiting in line to get gas, his pulse would quicken as he considered the dull importance of everyone else’s statistical magnitude. Lame! But he’d always be there to take himself down a few notches: Easy there. (But God were they lame!)

One night last February, a woman had bumped into him. She was walking a dog, and she bumped into him, full in the chest, enough to swivel him around and leave him facing both creatures. He saw it swim in her face before she said a word. That old-fashioned contracting of the eyes, the jaw muscles working dutifully. There it was: The same dumb old unimportant fact of her relevance, working its way up her throat and out into the air like a snake vomiting up an egg sucked down and digested dry of life.

Sorry, she said.

It was what he liked best about himself.

He’d lurched into the funhouse-mirrored outhouse of his mind and stumbled out drunk on the conviction that his whole worldview was a pre-existing condition. Couldn’t he get a tax break for such a thing? Probably. Couldn’t he hunt down tax man Norty with some money, a bit of driving and a few well timed favors? Definitely.

“Hello?”

“Hello Norty.”

“Don’t call me.”

For dinner that night, he cooked up some peaches and yams. He put it into his mouth without any help from neighbors, robots, service workers, farmhands or slaves. He put it into his mouth without gumption, haste, reservation or a fork. He needed new knives. He’d buy new knives tommorrow. This week. Before the holiday. Sometime.

“You know,” Teresa said, “if you think I’m going to come over again for peaches and yams, you’re insane.” It was the punchline of the hour, or maybe even the day. Of the week. Maybe the entire year. Of the decade.

Probably his whole life was a punchline.

He thought, every now and then you hear that thing that’s like ‘The definition of insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results...’ But it seems like true insanity is just the inverse: Doing different things and hoping for the same results. Filling your car with gas, hoping the cat water gets refreshed. Shaking a ketchup bottle and being appalled when you walk into your bedroom to find the curtains closed. Brushing your teeth, then pissed off that the dog pissed the floor. You didn’t walk him. He should’ve autowalked. That’s what the toothpaste was for. Fucking dog.

[alteodosio]

#16: Artisanal Bird Crafting

If branches are your thing, it’s time to branch out. We’ve integrated thousands of new designs into flight-ready prototypes, and we’re ready to build your fantasy bird. Equip your gull with scales, or arm that new pelican with squid style ink-jection defense. Tired of talons? That fantasy lark will have no trouble using quills to keep predators away. We’ve covered all the bases, right down to the moment your bird enters the world. Start your bird as a live-birthed crab primed for an early fall cocoon-style metamorphoses, or let it begin life as a tadpole. It’s time to go out on a limb, uncurl your little talon bird feet, and reach new heights.

-All Models are Flight-Ready

-Simple Power Supply Options Including 9V Battery, Reactor Core and Organs

-Self-Feeding and Self-Grooming Features Available

[alteodosio]

#15: this is why i can't fix your heater

My car died, and I need my car to get to your house to fix your heater. I know what you’re thinking – I’ll come pick you up! – but I’m afraid this won’t work either because there are downed power lines on the road that leads to my house. I know what you’re thinking – I’ll go another way! – but the only other way to go is going to be blocked off for the parade at noon, so you can’t go either way. Now, if you’re thinking something along the lines of Well, I can call you, and surely you’ll be able to describe the solution to me, I’m sorry but that won’t work. The land line in my house is down and I only have 4 minutes left on my cell phone, which I’m saving because mother is ill and may expire at any moment. Also, no internet. The internet will not work. There is no site I could direct you to, no blog, no heater-fixing how-to that’ll show you how to fix your heater just right. I know what you’re thinking – Well, once the power lines are cleared, the parade is over and you have more minutes on your phone and mother expires, then you can surely fix or help me fix my heater somehow – but I’m afraid this won’t work. Let me explain. Next week, I have to watch a German Shepherd mix who requires constant and exacting attention. She has a thyroid issue, which affects the levels of her hormones, which in turn affects her mood, which usually has an effect on her behavior. It is not her fault. Like mother, she operates on only two settings: lust and rage. If I leave her alone for too long, the results can be devastating. It is not her fault. Now, I know what you’re thinking – I don’t mind dogs! – but this option would be risky indeed, especially with insurance and whatnot. It’s happened before. Now, I know what you’re thinking – Cage the pooch! Well, this may work, if you want to wait until the downed power lines are cleared and the parade is over and I have more minutes on my phone and mother expires and the German Shepherd has been properly caged and restrained. This might work, if not for the location of my house.